


An Accounting of Contradictions

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternative Universe - Bank, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Holidays, Introvert Castiel, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mechanic Dean, Mild Language, Mixtape, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, No Angst, POV Castiel, Pining, Secret Crush, Sign Language, bank teller Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Cas is a bank teller who falls, hard, for the handsome customer in the black muscle car. He looks forward to his Fridays, when the mysterious man puts his deposit in via the bank drive-thru. They slowly get to know each other in their weekly 5-minute interactions. Will there come a day when Cas will finally get to meet Dean face-to-face?*This is a happy, feel-good story.*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! I do not have a beta so it probably isn't near as perfect as I'd like, but I hope you still enjoy reading it as much as I've loved writing it. 
> 
> I was inspired by, you guessed it, going to the bank. My bank is a brick building without a window so you can't see the tellers if you go through the drive-thru.
> 
> Chapter 1 just happens to coincide with the Festive Word Prompt of the Day, hosted by Destiel NaNoWriMo on Facebook. The word is CANDY CANE. This is also my Advent calendar day for the same group, woo hoo.

Every day of Castiel’s life is predictably mundane. He wakes, showers, and puts on trousers and a dress shirt. He flips his silky blue tie over his shoulder before consuming his breakfast of egg whites on whole wheat toast. He washes and dries his dishes. Then he slips on his jacket, his overcoat and into dress shoes. 

He listens to the same radio station and takes the exact same route to work. While the happenings of his work day ebb and flow, he has periods of consistency. Lunch is at 12:00, on the dot. He methodically counts out money the same way, everyday. And he returns home the same way, with the same evening routine of wine, dinner, television, book, bed.   
  
But this Friday is his unlucky day. He wakes up late. Which means he burns his eggs because he decides to try to steam wrinkles out of his pants at the same time he is cooking, in order to make up for lost time. Which means he ends up having no time to make coffee. His newspaper is soaked through from an overnight rain and he steps in dog shit that shouldn’t even be in his yard because he doesn’t have a dog.   
  
He leaves the dirty dishes in favor of remembering his wallet, but in the car he clicks on his favorite radio station only to be assaulted by a high-pitched buzz as the station tests its emergency broadcasting. 

Frustrated, he flips it back off, clenching his steering wheel. He has to try breathing exercises when he comes up on a detour in the road that threatens to further derail his perfected routine. He frowns but follows the orange signs around in the wide arch around his destination. 

His parking spot is taken. 

He's eight minutes late.    
  
He has a new trainee. 

A trainee who is so over-the-top hyperactive that he has to refrain from verbally insulting her just so she’ll give him a moment of peace. Cas is usually reserved and polite but right now he's downright dour.    
  
Despite all of that, he can see why she was hired. The last bank teller to work beside him was disagreeable and ill-mannered at best. Peppy and sociable is most likely what the powers-that-be are wanting. But can the young woman work with money as diligently as she works her mouth? Because she doesn’t ever seem to stop speaking.

Cas has been working at this bank for eight months but he was relegated to the drive-thru only a month back.  He prefers it to being at the front counter because this particular bank is in an old brick building that doesn’t have a big picture window where customers can see him. Each drive-thru lane has one-way surveillance. Most other banks have a two-way system that allows the customers to see the teller on a mini television screen. 

But Naomi Milton, the woman in charge of their branch, didn’t want to spend the money on the two-way system when it didn’t affect business. People are still going to come to the bank, whether they can see the teller or not. 

And so Becky Rosen shadows him all morning, learning how to make deposits and withdrawals. In between each transaction Cas gets an earful of way too much information about Becky’s interests, namely a book series she runs a website about. Any other day and he might not have been so grouchy but Becky doesn’t seem to mind that Cas is withdrawn.   
  
So he does feel a little bad. She seems nice and he hopes that his day will start to look up so he can gather the energy to at least try to be interested. But then he finally gets coffee from the break room, only to spill it on his favorite tie. The lingering scent of dog shit follows him around, a capsule gets stuck in one of the tubes... 

This day just couldn't get worse. 

But then it does-- in the form of a sleek, black muscle car that pulls into Cas’ lane.   
  
No, in the form of the man driving the sleek, black muscle car that pulls into Cas’ lane.

First, Cas caught a glimpse of the car when he heard its loud purr. He had looked across the bank lobby, to the front windows, as it slowly cruised around to the side of the bank where the tubes run from the drive-thru and into Cas’ workspace.   
  
Cas can see a man on his surveillance monitor, albeit a blurry visage, as the man rests one hand on his steering wheel and reaches out of his open window to grab the cylindrical capsule with the other.

Hundreds of people can come through in a day, but none have quite captured Cas’ attention like the man in the black car. He finds himself sitting up straighter as he waits for the man to send his banking needs into the building.   
  
“Becky, why don't you take lunch?” Cas instructs her quietly, his question more a request than an option. “The break room is downstairs between conference rooms B and C.” 

“Oh yeah, I remember where it’s at. I'm _starving.”_ Becky uncrosses her legs from her seat and bends down under the counter to grab her purse. “I brought egg salad today. What about you?”

Just then the capsule arrives and Cas waves her off with an apologetic smile, so she just gives him a thumbs up and leaves. He pulls out the capsule contents and flicks a switch on the intercom microphone that allows him two-way communication with, uh…

_ ‘Dean Winchester’ _ , Cas reads to himself from the check that the man wants deposited.    
  
“Mr. Winchester? How are you today?”

On the screen he can see that Dean Winchester has his elbow resting within his open car window as he taps his hand against the side of his door rhythmically. “Good, I’m good,” he says automatically, his deep voice coming through a little garbled. 

“It'll be just a moment,” Cas says, diverting his attention back to getting the man’s deposit put into his account.

“Yup,” Dean Winchester replies, resuming the tapping and Cas realizes he's tapping a beat. He couldn't hear music through the crappy intercom but Dean must be listening to something quietly. Or maybe he has a song stuck in his head. 

Cas slips the receipt into the tube and calls one more time as he sends the cylindrical compartment whizzing out to the man waiting in the old car. “Have a good weekend, Dean,” Cas says, and then reprimands himself instantly. They're supposed to address everyone formally, by their last names, at his branch. 

But the guy is taking his receipt and just says a half-hearted, “You, too,” before the loud purr of motor fills the air around Cas and he quickly turns the intercom off. Dean didn't seem to notice so it should be okay. The man doesn’t seem like the type to send in a complaint because a faceless teller used his first name.

The next Friday, at almost the same time he had come to the bank the week before, Dean appears on the little surveillance television screen. It's payday for a lot of customers so the bank is incredibly busy. 

“Good afternoon, Dean,” Cas says distractedly, still flustered from the seemingly nonstop workload. He maintains an even voice, and polite tone, but he slips up in thinking that it’s much later in the day.

“Uh, is it afternoon?” Dean has large, tinted aviators covering much of his face as he sits facing the East, the sun not quite high enough in the sky for it to be afternoon.   
  
Damn it.   
  
"Apol ogies. Good morning, then,” Cas amends, glancing down at the little digital clock on the bottom right of his computer screen. “Busy day today, so I thought it was later than it is.”

Dean leans out the car and looks right into the black lense of the surveillance camera, lifting his sunglasses up just high enough for Cas to know he has lighter eyes rather than dark ones. It's hard to see the exact color though. 

Dean smiles brightly. “Yeah, man, almost gave me a heart attack. Gotta be to work before noon.”

Cas hesitates over the switch. He turns if off after he says a non-committed, “Of course.” He makes Dean’s deposit and sends him the receipt with a polite, “Have a good weekend, Dean.”

Cas gets slammed again once 12:30 hits. Cars come and go, deposit after deposit, withdrawal after withdrawal. 

Becky is a surprisingly quick learner and is promptly put in charge of the business lane. Between the two of them they keep each other afloat. They're still busy, which helps the time go by faster, but they’re not drowning in the work which means that every customer is taken care of in a timely fashion.  

On the following Friday, a gloomy overcast day in mid-May, Dean doesn't show up at his usual time. Cas catches himself looking for the car and chastises himself for being a pitiful loser. He’s barely said more than greetings and farewells to the man. 

He sees familiar faces come through on a regular basis, on an almost strict schedule. If someone misses a day he hardly cares beyond noticing they didn't come that day. But Cas feels concern that he hasn't seen Dean specifically, and disappointment that maybe he won’t see him again. For all he knows Dean has moved to another bank or signed up for direct deposit.

Ten minutes before Cas is going to turn off the drive-thru lane signs, close out his drawer and begin wrapping up his day, he catches sight of the car driving past the front windows to come around. 

Cas watches his monitor as he waits. He can see Dean roughly grab the capsule. His check and deposit slip come through a little wrinkled and smudged, Dean’s pen strokes hard and sharp. 

Clearing his throat, Cas clicks on his microphone and says, “Good evening, Dean,” through the intercom.

Dean snaps his attention to the camera and gruffly says, “You the only bank guy who works back there?”

Cas chuckles. “No. You always pick my lane.” Dean raises his eyebrows at that, barely discernible on the tiny monitor. “Good timing, by the way. We close in a few.” Cas hesitantly muses, “You didn't come at your regular time.”

Dean straightens ever so slightly and Cas ignores the questioning and curious look that Becky shoots at him for leaving the intercom on. Every time Dean comes through he turns off his obnoxiously loud car so it isn't as though the noisy car is disturbing anyone. 

Dean’s next words seem to be carefully chosen. Hesitant. “You, uh, noticed I was late today, huh?”  
  
Yes. But Cas chickens out before he can admit that, preferring to lump Dean in with everyone else, because he totally does not have any feelings for a perfect stranger. “Well, I notice when anyone deviates from their typical schedule.”

Cas’ brain screams at him that he’s a liar. And in denial.

“Right, of course,” Dean says, his voice darkening. It’s clear that he is having a bad day. Cas wants to do something to make it better but he doesn’t know what to say or do, so he says and does nothing. 

When Cas bids Dean farewell tonight, Dean's reply is lost when he turns the key in the ignition and peels out. 

Another week passes by and brings a cloudless Friday. Dean shows up early this time, just shortly after the bank opens, and Cas decides it's maddening. Why -- _ how _ \-- does Dean come whenever he pleases? Cas couldn’t do that. If he was merely a customer he’d probably come through at the exact same time every week himself.

Cas notices Dean chooses his lane. What Cas doesn't know is if it has become his habit or if it is a deliberate choice now that he knows Cas runs it. Regardless, Dean is here, and Cas grows more and more intrigued by the man. Dean sends an empty capsule to Cas and presses the  **call** button. 

“Good morning, Dean,” he says eagerly.  

“Hey,” Dean replies brightly. “G’mornin’... um, what’d you say your name was?”

Cas bites his lip and looks over his shoulder to see if any coworkers are listening. They aren't. “I didn't.”

“Okay?” Dean laughs and Cas can't decide if it sounds nervous? Incredulous? Annoyed? 

“Castiel.”

“Gesundheit.”

“No, that's my name.”

“No, that's the name of some kinda soap or cleaner. Ooh, or maybe fancy meds, like the ones you see on commercials.”

Cas is taken aback by the teasing. Why would Dean make fun of his name? He doesn’t appear menacing. In fact he’s smiling easily toward the camera. Maybe this is his way of joking around.

“I assure you that that it is my name. What can I help you with today?” Cas asks, remembering Dean called him and there’s nothing in the capsule. He’s fairly certain this isn’t a social call.

“Oh, uh, I need a deposit slip, for checking.”

“Of course. Just a moment.”

Cas’ hands shake a little when he sends the slip out and patiently waits for it to be filled out and returned. He tries to not be a creep by watching the monitor and so busies himself with tidying up his workspace until he hears the swoosh of the capsule landing in it’s dock.

He says nothing more except, “Have a good weekend, Dean,” his finger hovering over the intercom switch to turn it off as soon as Dean responds.

“You, too, Cas.”

Dean’s parting words, namely the shortened version of Castiel’s name, settle into his chest heavily and yet make him feel light as a feather. Not even Becky’s saccharine-sweet chatter can dull his mood, not after hearing his name in  _ that _ voice.  

What  _ can  _ put a dampener on Cas’ mood is having to call in sick, from an intense case of food poisoning, the following week. He spends his entire Friday and Saturday doubled over a toilet or bin, trying to keep food and drink down, and then all of Sunday hydrating and sleeping. 

He doesn't even realize the full extent of his completely shallow, one-sided crush until the following Friday. Since he missed Dean last week, he is looking forward to seeing him for his weekly deposit today.   
  
Cas is still in denial, not fully realizing that how he feels is a crush, not until the moment he comes upstairs from his lunch break to the tune of Becky cheerfully saying, “Have a great day, Mr. Winchester,” into Cas’ mic. 

He can barely make out the sound of the big car through the building's thick walls as Dean starts it up and drives off. The utter disappointment that Cas feels to have missed Dean not once, but twice in a row, is shocking to his neat and tidy world and he knows he’s got it. Bad.

Cas huffs angrily under his breath and flops into his seat, ready to take the next customer without favoritism. He's not going to be upset that he hasn't gotten to talk to the handsome, devil-may-care, bad-boy-personified man who just comes through for a few minutes a week to make a deposit. 

But he does care, too much. Next Friday he determines to take his break only after his ~~(so not a crush)~~ customer has been through. It appears he won't have to wait long.    
  
Except it takes him a moment to even realize Dean is here. A capsule arrives and Cas finds himself holding Dean’s check and deposit slip, with the now familiar blocky handwriting, but the man on his screen is lanky with long brown hair and driving a silver sedan. 

“Mr. Winchester?” Cas asks over the intercom.

“Uh, yeah..?” the man says, and Cas’ heart sinks. They have the same last name. Cas' first thought is that perhaps this is Dean’s significant other, bringing his deposit by for him. His second thought is that he hopes Dean isn’t injured, or sick, to not come by on his own.    
  
Cas is watching the monitor in heartbroken confusion, and trying to not feel jealous of this handsome stranger, when Dean himself leans over from the passenger side and loudly says, “Hey, you're back! Thought you got canned.”

Letting out a deep breath, trying to tame the nerves rolling around in his belly, Cas replies, “I did not get ‘canned’. And it is good to see you, too, Dean.”    
  
Cas was just going to wallow in his feelings and crush on Dean in secret, for forever. It didn't occur to him that Dean may be taken or would one day find someone. Ugh, Cas feels pathetic. 

“So you  _ can _ see me?” Dean starts waving his arm.    
  
The driver starts trying to push Dean off his lap and back into his own seat with a muffled, “Dude, get off me.” Something about their interaction is odd for a couple.

“Yes, we do use surveillance,” Cas says, but he can't see Dean now, only the annoyed driver. “I could see you waving like a maniac and now I see your… friend... glowering at you.”

Dean's head pokes back into view with a wide grin and the driver puts a huge hand against Dean’s face to push him back out of sight. 

“I'll have your check deposited in just a minute,” Cas says stiffly, turning off the intercom. He has never completed a task so fast in his life. The receipt goes out and Cas is tempted to not say his usual parting line. 

Before he can decide, his intercom lights up, signaling the customer is calling. He flips the switch and the driver’s voice comes through. “So, hey, I'm Dean’s brother. I’m visiting from out-of-state and don't bank here, but would I be able to cash a check since we're already here?”

Cas lets out a deep breath that they shouldn’t be able to hear and then rolls his eyes at himself for having been so petulant. No wonder their behavior came across as strange. They have the same surname because they’re _brothers_.    
  
“Of course,” Cas says cheerfully, buoyed by the knowledge that Dean is hanging out with his brother. This entire interaction has been a roller coaster ride of emotions. “I will need a valid driver's license and the signed check.”

The check and the license name Dean’s brother as Samuel. Cas sends his cash and ID back with a polite, “Samuel, Dean, have a good weekend.”

Dean’s brother laughs and says, “It's Sam,” just as Dean leans over and calls out, “You, too, Cas. See ya.”

So Sam is his brother. The questions still remain: is Dean single? And would he even be interested in a man? Cas sighs as he closes out a program on his computer. He may never know. And just this little taste of jealousy is enough to make Cas want to put an end to his fruitless and pointless infatuation before he really gets his heart broken. 

By next Friday Dean is back in his own car. Cas doesn't really know much about cars, much less classics. 

He completely ignores his resolve to be professionally distant when he works up the courage to say, “You have a very beautiful car, Dean.” Now that Dean knows Cas can see him in real time, it shouldn't be so awkward to say but Cas still holds his breath. 

And then his heart beats double time at the beautiful smile that blossoms on Dean’s face. He leans far out the car window and so close to the camera he's actually a little more in focus than usual, and Cas’ breath catches. 

“I know. She's my Baby,” Dean says, patting the outside of his door where his arm dangles. “1967 Chevy Impala, Cas. You know cars?”

“No,” Cas admits. He hesitates and then shyly and softly adds, “But I like yours.”

“Smart. I knew I liked you,” Dean says, pulling himself back into his car with a smile. 

Cas tilts his head and observes Dean a moment before printing his receipt and bidding him yet another good weekend. He wills away the butterflies dancing in his stomach over the fact that Dean said he liked him, wiping damp hands against his slacks. Dean was obviously just teasing.

After several weeks of greetings and farewells something else occurs to Cas: he really has no reason to like Dean. Other than knowing he is employed by Singer Auto, because it's on every deposit check, and that he has at least one brother and a big car, Cas knows nothing about  _ him.  _

He could be a complete asshole. He did make fun of Cas’ name, after all. He could be the loudmouth type that womanizes women and bullies small children. He could be a drug addict, a slob, completely irresponsible...

But then Dean pulls in and says hello and Cas, well, he just can't believe Dean is bad. He may look like he tries, with the leather jacket and Camel-Joe-cool that he tries to exude. But Cas just has this feeling that there's more to this Dean Winchester than meets the eye. An underlying vulnerability and a heart of gold. 

Everyone can make bad choices, it's only human. But Cas has always had this innate ability to sense whether a person is inherently good or inherently bad. Call it intuition, a third eye, instinct or whatever. 

And Dean? Cas breathes deeply and lets it out slow. Dean is good. And he wants to get to know him, even if only as friends. The only question now is how..?

The weeks go on, from summer into fall, Dean coming to make his paycheck deposits at unpredictable times, but always on Fridays. The unpredictability slowly affects Cas to the point that he finds himself breaking out of his own stiff routine.   
  
It starts with little things, like choosing something different for breakfast, or taking the scenic route to work. Cas makes friends with his neighbor, Meg, and doesn’t spend every evening doing the same-old, same-old. Though he never brings up Dean to Meg, or to anyone really. She’s a bit odd and he’s still trying to sort out his own thoughts and feelings without needing a third party’s input.   
  
One day he looks at his wardrobe and sighs at how dull and melancholy it seems. He’s always worn suits, plain and lifeless, even though it isn’t required. Everyone else at work wears nice slacks, blouses on the ladies, and collared polos or button-up shirts for the men.    
  
The first time Cas walks into the bank wearing grey pants and a spring green shirt, Becky gives him an exuberant hug and tells him he looks great.

The attention makes him a little self-conscious but he continues to ditch the suit jacket and tie, experimenting with quirky bowties, argyle socks and suspenders. He decides he likes the addition of color to his wardrobe, and he fantasizes that maybe one day Dean will come inside to make a deposit and like what he sees. Perhaps it is just wishful thinking...   
  
“It’s totally the ‘in’ thing right now. Nerdy chic,” Becky giggles one morning, ruffling his already windblown hair.    
  
“I thought this was classified as Hipster,” he says with his head tilted in thought.

“I think you need to wear tighter pants to qualify for that one,” she laughs. Becky has really grown on him and it helps that she’s so absorbed in her own imaginary world to notice Cas silently pining over the handsome, rugged Dean Winchester each Friday.   
  
Or, if she does notice, then at least she lets Cas pine for him in peace and without unsolicited advice or meddling.   
  
Speaking of crushing hard on Dean, Cas makes an effort to learn at least one thing from Dean each new week.    
  


  
Is Sam your only sibling?

_ \--No, I have a half-brother, Adam, but he lives far away. I don't really know him.  _

Han Solo or Darth Vader?

_ \--Is this a serious question? Solo, all the way. He drives a cool ship, kicks ass and gets the girl _ . 

Are you wearing a costume this Halloween?

_ \--I may be in my mid-20’s but hell yes. What about you? With a voice like that you could be something like, I dunno, a cowboy or a gunslinger.  _

Will you get to see your brother --Sam, was it?-- for Thanksgiving?

_ \--Yup. Just me-n-him. Oh and Bobby, my employer. He's like, ya know, my dad. Not by blood but… ya know. _

 

Dean tentatively starts asking questions back. Nothing major. Just whether or not Cas likes pie ( _ some kinds _ ), if Cas thinks Asia is good music ( _ who? _ ), where’s the best burger joint in town ( _ The Watchtower _ ).   
  
The Saturday after Thanksgiving Cas’ truck begins to give him trouble. Plus, he needs new tires before the town is hit with ice and snow. The words  _ Singer Auto  _ are singed into his brain, and before he can talk himself out of it, he plugs in the address to the GPS app on his phone.    
  
Cas is a ball of nerves when he arrives at the auto shop. This is way outside his comfort zone. What if he sees Dean? What if he sees Dean but Dean doesn’t recognize him? He’s been told that his voice is easy to pick out from others and, of course, his name isn’t exactly on the ‘Top 50 Baby Names of the Year’ list, so it'd be unlikely that Dean wouldn't notice him.   
  
The little bell on the door jingles when he pushes hard on the stubborn door, stepping into a closet-sized reception area that has three chairs and a little table with various well-worn automotive magazines. A woman sits at the desk straight across from the entrance so Cas takes the three steps needed to reach her so he can schedule his truck.   
  
“We’re pretty much booked up all day but, if you’re able to leave your vehicle, we should be done Sunday afternoon, Mr. Novak.” When he nods she smiles and hands him a clipboard. “Alright, I just need you to fill this out and I’ll need your key.”   
  
Cas carefully removes the car key from his keyring and glances up at the windows behind her desk that look directly into the garage. There are a couple of cars lifted up into the air by jacks. A hefty guy with a scruffy, graying beard is yelling at someone who is out-of-sight.   
  
“Sir?”   
  
“Oh, hmm? Yes, here’s the key.”   
  
She laughs. “That’s just Bobby. Singer, as in Singer Auto. He owns the joint and he may look and sound rough but he’s a big softie,” she explains, assuming Cas had been distracted by the older man and not looking for a certain mechanic…   
  
if Dean even is a mechanic. Maybe Dean does different work, like accounting, or maybe he cleans the toilets. Cas has no idea.  But he swears that Dean is a mechanic, considering some of his deposit slips come through with small, dark smudges, like motor oil that Dean didn’t quite wash all the way off.   
  
Cas glances back up through the windows. A man in a blue jumper has joined Bobby but it isn’t Dean. They’re looking over some kind of form. He hesitates a few more seconds before bidding the receptionist a good day, flipping his collar up and heading out into the cold to walk to the bus stop.   
  
Since he didn’t get a chance to run into Dean today, maybe he will when he picks his truck up. Maybe Dean will see the order, be the one to put the tires on and service the engine. Surely he’d put two-and-two together.    
  
He’s feeling a little more confident being on Dean’s turf when he goes to pick up his truck on Sunday afternoon. But, once again, he only meets the receptionist. And he sees the same mechanic as the day before, as well as two others that aren’t Dean. Cas feels like he may be bordering on stalker-level infatuation so he quickly takes his receipt and drives off.    
  
He reasons with himself on why he shouldn’t feel like a crazy person. He had just needed his car fixed, for fuck’s sake. He went to the only automotive repair shop that he was aware of, without needing to go on an hour-long Yelp search. This is totally normal behavior. He was just fixing his vehicle, that’s all. 

The fact that he didn’t run into his crush was probably the universe telling him to stay behind his desk and stop daydreaming about a man that’ll never give him the time of day outside of his bank deposit needs.   
  
Dean never mentions Cas having visited Singer Auto. Cas doesn’t either.

The Friday before Christmas there's something extra in the capsule that Dean sends in. Dean himself is abnormally quiet, staring straight ahead to avoid looking at the surveillance camera. Cas looks up away from the black cassette tape now sitting on his desk and observes Dean's profile on the monitor for a moment.

It isn't unusual to receive gifts from customers. Mostly they're small, light items that can fit in the capsules, like gift certificates and gift cards. Sometimes a customer will come inside with a gift for the whole staff to enjoy, like cookies.  

But this is personal. 

Cas gingerly traces a fingertip across the pristine white label that neatly reads: “Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Tra XX.” It doesn’t have his name on it but Cas knows it is for him. Still, he needs to ask and confirm. 

After he clears his throat, Cas turns on the intercom. “Dean, what is this?” Cas asks gently, curiously. 

He can see Dean shrug. “Uh, ya know, music. A gift. For you.” He still won't look toward the camera. “Have a good Christmas, Cas.”

“You, too, Dean,” Cas says as he sends the receipt with a striped candy cane. “And thank you.”

Dean drives away under a gray sky that has been threatening snow for days. 

Cas stares at the cassette tape with his heart hammering wildly. Dean really seems to have that effect on him a lot. He gets up from his chair and slips it into a hidden pocket inside his trench coat so no one finds it and asks him about it.   
  
The rest of the day his thoughts drift to the tape. He has a dilemma. As badly as he wants to listen to this music, curious about what Dean put thought and time into, his truck doesn't have a tape deck. He decides to visit a Target after work, finds a cheap boom box and takes it home. 

That night it snows. 

Anxiety courses through Cas the next Friday. Does he bring up the tape? Or does he continue on as normal?

He still isn't quite sure what to make of many of the song choices and their lyrics. Like  _ Kashmir _ , with the upbeat tempo but captivating prose. Some songs hinting at loss, of being lost, of trying to find the way. Some song lyrics seem downright sexual. Is there something Dean is trying to say or does he just want to share his favorite music? 

Dean shows up with his usual cheerfulness and doesn’t ask about it so Cas doesn’t mention it either. When he gets his receipt and says goodbye, Dean jokes, “See ya next year,” before he drives off. New Year’s Eve is in just two days.    
  
Cas bites his tongue to keep from saying,  _ ‘Yeah right. We’ll never see each other. I’ll just keep being the freak watching you from a 10-inch security television screen.’ _

From that melancholy thought, Cas begins to wonder how Dean will spend that night. If he'll party or stay in, have someone to kiss at midnight, if he's all alone like Cas or surrounded by many friends. Probably the latter. 

It's quite depressing for Cas to consider his own options for New Year’s Eve, but he finally settles on the fact that he'll probably just stay in, far away from intoxicated drivers and overpacked bars. The noise alone, at any of the local taverns, would be overstimulating enough.    
  
By the time Cas gets to clock out and head home, the winter sun is already almost set, washing its warm colors over exhaust-coated snow and shiny asphalt. He steps out, into the frigid December evening air, and watches a couple of coworkers walk swiftly toward their cars, chatting loudly, their purses swinging with each step that they take.

Cas is so engrossed in thought that he doesn't see him, or the car that he could easily pick out of a lineup by now. But he recognizes the voice instantly when it cuts across the parking lot.

“Uh, excuse me? Do you work here?”   
  
Cas freezes on the spot, in the middle of the parking lot, and slowly turns to his right.    
  
Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dean._  
  
Cas’ heart jackhammers painfully as his brain tries to catch up to the fact that Dean is standing there. Dean is staring at him and all Cas can do is stupidly stare back. Dean  is more beautiful in person than Cas could fathom. His voice isn't hindered by intercom interference, he has an easy smile, strong jaw shadowed with stubble, and a pouty bottom lip that Cas should probably, really, stop staring at...  
  
Dean pushes away from where he is leaning against the side of his car and walks forward-- toward Cas. Cas, seemingly in slow motion, begins to walk toward him as well, to meet him halfway.  
  
But Cas pulls up short, just out of reach, eyes darting over the face that he can now see is speckled with freckles. Dean takes the hint and stops as well, keeping a respectable distance, looking at Cas expectantly because, up to this point, Cas hasn’t even answered his question.

In the fading light Dean’s eyes, _his green-gold eyes_ , look ethereally bright. He puts his hands in his coat pockets.  And for such a handsome man he comes across as adorable when he stutters, “I was, uh, wondering if Cas was still here?”

Cas smiles slowly, he can't help it as his lip tugs up slowly on the left side. “It's good to finally meet you face-to-face, Dean,” he says, thankful that his voice doesn’t betray him right now and do something embarrassing, like crack. He’d shake hands but Dean’s are still tucked tightly in his pockets and Cas is nervously clutching his lunch bag to his stomach.

Dean’s entire face is suddenly animated. Eyes wide, mouth open in surprise before his lips move to form words. “I-- okay. You're,” he chuckles, “not what I was expecting.” He pulls his hands out and holds them up when Cas frowns. “Not in a bad way. It's a, uh, compliment.”

Cas tilts his head, brows pulled together in confusion, while Dean takes a turn to rake his gaze across Cas’ face with focused interested. “Well, what did you expect?” Cas asks.

Dean chuckles again. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I just-- well, I haven’t ever really talked with a banker or a cashier or the mailman, or anyone really, like the way we’ve got along. And I kinda, I dunno, thought we were moving into friend territory but it was…” Dean flounders for the right word to describe the obstacle between them.  
  
“One-sided?” Cas offers.  
  
Dean breathes out a white puff of air in relief. “Exactly.” He takes a small step toward Cas. “I know it’s probably creepy that I came back today but you kinda have my phone number on file and haven’t ever tried to use it. Thought this was one way to get your attention.”  
  
“Oh,” Cas breathes, his own breath a quickly dissipating cloud in the cold, winter air. “I didn’t think-- I didn’t know you’d want me to… call. Or be friends.”  
  
“Cas, I’d definitely like you to call. I’d definitely like to be friends,” Dean says firmly. “Are you doing anything now? I don’t know about you but I could eat. And there _is_ that burger place you recommended. I haven’t had a chance to check it out yet.”  
  
Cas glances around the parking lot. The last of the sun is disappeared beyond the city's horizon, everyone else having gone home except for the security personnel inside the bank building. Streetlamps provide the only light now, a garish yellow. He looks back at Dean, who is waiting expectantly, but Cas’ hesitation causes Dean to second-guess himself.  
  
Dean frowns. “Look, if I misread the situation or whatev-”  
  
“No, I’d like to,” Cas reassures him quickly. “I’m just... still getting over the surprise of seeing you here.”  
  
Dean smiles and puts his hands back in his pockets, drawing out his car keys. “Okay, awesome. Let’s get out of the fucking cold. I may not be able to feel my toes anymore.”  
  
Cas takes a step forward in concern, chastising Dean just by the inflection he places on his name when he says, “Dean…”  
  
“I’m kidding! Kinda. Anyway, you wanna ride in the Impala?” Dean wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on, I know you’ve been ogling her for months through your freaky one-way camera.”  
  
Cas rolls his eyes for the comment about his surveillance camera and then looks past Dean at the big car. It’s not so easy to see the details from this distance but it looks even bigger in person.

He looks back to Dean’s shadowed face. Crush or not, intuition or not, he still doesn't know him. Cas takes a step back, toward the general vicinity of his car and Dean doesn't lunge at him with a knife so… that's good.

“Why don't you follow?” Cas suggests nonchalantly. “I don't want to leave my beauty of a truck here.”

Dean looks past him and snorts at the sight of the old, rusting vehicle. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, just give me a minute to get it warmed up and then follow me out.”

“You got it,” Dean quips as they both part and go to their own vehicles. Cas chances a glance behind him to see that Dean is watching him with an astonished expression, that Dean visibly shakes himself from, before lowering himself into his car.

Cas pulls himself up and into his truck, starts it up and puts the heat on full blast, but the air blows out icy cold. He can't seem to get his heart to slow down or make himself stop smiling, hands and body still trembling.  
  
Dean is throwing another wrench into the last semblance of Cas’ careful evening routine, but Cas can’t bring himself to care about that. He’s pretty sure he’d tear up any plans he’s had for a chance like this one.

But, he reminds himself, going to dinner doesn't mean anything. This isn't a date. It's two people trying to decide if they'll be friends. So he tells himself to stop being so damn nervous and just drive already.

Whatever awkwardness he thinks will greet him, when they slide into a booth across from each other at The Watchtower, is quickly dashed away. Dean smiles enigmatically and quickly engages Cas in conversation as they look over the laminated menus.

“I wouldn't have pegged a banker for having a beater,” Dean says as he puts his menu down. “I'd have thought you'd have one of those fancy hybrid, save-the-earth cars.”

“I'm a teller, not a banker. And I like my truck,” Cas says with a frown. “It's not as nice as your car but it serves me well.”

“Hey,” Dean holds up his hands again, “I mean no disrespect. Eye of the beholder.”

“So how is Sam?” Cas asks, finding himself genuinely interested in hearing about Dean’s brother. Hell, he’ll listen to Dean talk about just anything at this point, but it’s clear that Dean holds few things close to his heart. One of them is his car and the other is clearly his brother.

Dean’s entire demeanor relaxes. He leans back and throws one of his arms over the back of the booth, telling Cas about his little brother who lives out in California and attends law school. Then he dives into a tale about how his brother, when younger, broke his arm when he was pretending to be Batman and jumped off a building.

Cas laughs along with him. “I didn't think Batman flew?”

“Exactly,” Dean says, snapping his fingers. “Poor kid thought that's why it didn't work at first. Had to tell him it wouldn't matter if was pretending to be Superman; he couldn't just jump off of roofs.”

The waitress brings their burgers at this point and they change the subject, Cas telling Dean a little bit about his distant, nuclear family that he rarely saw growing up. And that he's only lived in Sioux Falls for about a year.

“What on earth made you wanna move here?”

Cas shrugs. “I've traveled. I've seen the world. A small, quiet town seemed like the best place for someone like me.”

“So you don't know many people here then?”

“My coworkers are pleasant enough, but I do not see them beyond work hours. And there's my neighbor, Meg. She has half a dozen cats. Most of them evil.” Cas rolls up a shirtsleeve and holds out his arm to show his most recent claw marks from Jezebel.

“Yikes,” Dean says, tracing the jagged, healing scab with a fingertip before Cas pulls his arm back, shivering from the contact. “Thank God I'm allergic. So is Meg, like, someone you're seeing?” Dean wiggles his eyebrows but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Cas shakes his head and laughs at the absurdity. “Ah, no. I'm not seeing anyone. And even then, she's really, really not my type. We have brunch together on Sundays and I try to win over her cats, that's about it.”

The waitress comes by again, to see if they'd like dessert, before Dean can ask the question that Cas knows should be coming after a remark like that: just who is Cas’ type?  

Instead, Dean says, "Pie?" while looking at Cas earnestly.  
  
Cas really doesn't want to leave yet and, even though he's full, he orders the pecan. "I've never had dessert here before," he admits, hoping Dean can read between the lines and realize Cas is enjoying the company enough to want to stay.

They talk more, Cas picking at his pie slowly. Dean got the apple and he offers Cas a bite but, "Only if you let me try yours," he says with a grin.

"Well, Cas, I think you win for best pies in Sioux Falls. But I think I know where to get a better burger."  
  
Cas opens his mouth to ask where, but the waitress slips their bills onto the table when she passes by with a carafe of steaming coffee for the booth next to theirs.  
  
“Shit, time flies. I didn't realize we'd been here so long, sorry.” Dean looks at the black watch strapped on his wrist to double check the time while they  wait for the waitress to bring their credit cards back.  
  
"No need to apologize. I had the evening open and I enjoyed getting to meet you," Cas says, and to his ears it sounds like a permanent goodbye. He hopes it isn't a permanent goodbye.  
  
“Here, give me your phone,” Dean says out-of-the-blue, holding his hand out. He waves it impatiently when Cas gives him an odd look. “C’mon, trust me.”

Cas hands his phone over, watching Dean tap the screen and then start typing something. “What are you do--”

“Now you can text me,” Dean interrupts, turning the phone over to show Cas that he’s put DEAN at the top of a ‘new contact’ screen. “Just gonna text myself so I've got yours, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cas says, coughing to clear away the nerves threatening to choke him anew. Dean wants to exchange numbers before they split so that has to be a good sign. He takes his phone back, the metal case warmed by Dean's hands, his heart a lot fuller this evening than when his day first began.

Their cards are returned then and they leave the fluorescent lighting and warmth behind in exchange for the cool darkness of the parking lot. Cas feels a little awkward with how to end this evening, the feeling intensifying when it appears Dean is working up the courage to say something as he lingers by Cas' truck.

Dean finally says, “I'm kinda having a New Year's Eve get-together.”  
  
"That is wonderful, Dean."  
  
Rubbing the back of his hair, Dean chuckles and it sounds a little nervous, unless Cas is just really bad at reading people. "Uh, do you have plans? I was wondering if you wanted to come."  
  
“I do not have plans," Cas says, shaking his head. "I was going to just stay in.”  
  
“Well, now you have to come. You can’t ring in the new year by yourself,” Dean says lightly and yet watching Cas intently.

“I'll text you tomorrow?” Cas doesn't want to appear pathetically overeager but he knows he'll say yes, even though the idea of a party is nerve-wracking. He has to think about it and talk himself into meeting even more new people.  
  
“I’ll hold you to it,” Dean says in mock sternness before he smiles. “See ya, Cas.”  
  
It turns out Dean is the overeager one. Cas has barely had a few sips of his Saturday morning coffee when his phone lights up with a text message.  
  
  
_[Dean] - 7:36am - so u comin 2morrow?_  
  
  
Cas chuckles under his breath and leans against his counter. He types one-handed while holding his mug.  
  
  
**[Cas] - 7:36am - Good morning Dean. Are you always up early on Sat?**  
  
_[Dean] - 7:37am - only when i have to convince a new friend to come over. gotta start early_

**[Cas] - 7:37am - convince me? How will you manage that?**

_[Dean] - 8:38am - tell u i need help? u could come early and help me cook_

**[Cas] - 7:38am - maybe i’m a terrible cook…**

_[Dean] - 7:38am - are u?_  
  
**[Cas] - 7:39am - i guess you’ll find out soon enough. Text me your address and what time.**

_[Dean] - 7:40am - that easy?! awesome!_

 

He is unsure of what to expect for a New Year’s Eve party at Dean Winchester’s house. He’s hoping it isn’t a frat-type of get-together. He’s too old for the underage girls that sneak in and drink an obnoxious amount of alcohol, the terrible music, the frat-boy behavior.  
  
They spend the day texting back-and-forth about the food and who Cas will meet. So Cas is pleasantly surprised to learn that it’ll be a small gathering of Dean’s close friends. But then he is confused, because why would Dean insinuate that he counts Cas among them to have invited him, but Cas doesn’t ask.  
  
On New Year’s Eve, Cas dresses into a black sweater and well-worn denim jeans that hang off his hips a little. He manages to find a belt and runs fingers nervously through his hair instead of looking for a comb.  
  
He is arriving early and bringing his crockpot so Dean can have an extra one to use. They’re going to make all the typical junk, like queso and lil’ smokies. Dean is also making some kind of cream cheese and olive pinwheels and sliders.  
  
Dean welcomes Cas inside his home just moments after Cas knocks on the door, ushering him to the kitchen.

"Remember when I said that I knew a place that had better burgers? Welcome to the place that has the best burgers."  
  
Cas laughs and passes off the crock pot, removing his coat and hanging it on the back of a bar stool at the kitchen counter.  
  
“Are you good with a knife?” Dean asks from his place at the counter where he’s dumping barbeque sauce over miniature hot dogs in the crockpot Cas brought.  
  
“Am I--” Cas huffs incredulously. “Is the sky blue? Yes, I am skilled with a knife. All-boys school in France, the culinary heartbeat of the world.”  
  
Dean slowly looks up at him. “You can speak French?”  
  
“Oui, pourquoi?” Cas asks. “Aimes-tu la langue française?”  
  
Cas watches Dean visibly swallow, his cheeks pinkening before he starts rambling really fast. “Okay, huh. Uh, yeah. So all-boys boarding school? You weren’t kidding about your parents sending you away and never seein’ ‘em huh? Oh, I shouldn't have brought that up. Sorry!" Dean drops something, disappearing beneath the counter to retrieve it. "Where’s the damn cutting board? Uhhhhh... can you grab the tomatoes and cheese from the fridge?”  
  
Cas tilts his head at him in confusion when Dean pops back up, but he obediently opens the fridge, his eyes instantly drawn to the beer and alcohol. A lot of it. He should’ve expected as much. It is New Year’s Eve, after all. He’ll just have to be mindful of how much he consumes and go slow so that he doesn't say or do something completely embarrasing.  
  
“You can have a beer if you want,” Dean offers as Cas squats down to look in the crisper drawer for tomatoes.  
  
“I’m fine right now,” he murmurs, shifting things around. “Do you want one while I'm in here?”

Dean steps over to where Cas is still squatting. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll take one now.”

Cas wiggles a can out of one of the boxes, twisting on his haunches to hand it up to Dean. He tries to not think about Dean’s fingers coming into contact with his as he passes off the beer, but it's really hard to focus and he ends up looking in the same spot for way too long.  
  
“I don’t see tomato in here.”  
  
“Oh, right, it’s on the counter. But I do need that cheese, right by your right shoulder.”  
  
Cas grabs the cheese and straightens up, turning to find Dean diverting his eyes and suddenly busying himself with adjusting the cutting board on the counter. “Tomatoes are behind you. Forgot, sorry. If you could dice and then put them in this bowl, that’d be great.”  
  
Dean leaves Cas to it and goes into the adjacent living room. The air fills with the sound of music coming from a vinyl record player, which is really interesting. Most people have CD players or use any number of apps or technology to play music. Cas considers what he knows of Dean, with his old car and the cassette he gifted to Cas, the general decor of his house… the man appears to be stuck in another era.  
  
“Damn, you do know how to use a knife. Impressive,” Dean says, coming back to the kitchen to put his elbows on the island and lean over, getting a closer view of Cas dicing tomatoes.  
  
After a minute Dean starts singing to the music under his breath and moves to get out more ingredients that he dumps out next to Cas’ bowl. He stands at Cas’ side and starts to put together the pinwheels, this time Cas watching him, done with his task.  
  
“I know this song,” Cas says when a new song begins. “Oh, it’s on the tape you gave me.”  
  
Dean almost drops the butter knife he's using to spread cream cheese with. “You listened to it?”  he asks carefully.  
  
“Listen. Not past tense. And of course I listen to it. Isn’t that the point?”  
  
“Yeah, I just--” Dean waves the butter knife “I thought maybe you didn’t like it ‘cause you never brought it up.”  
  
Cas turns to him and places a hand against Dean’s shoulder. “I do love it. Thank you.” Dean looks like he’d like to flee the room right now, probably from embarrassment, though Cas isn’t sure why. So he smiles and adds, “You may be impressed to know that I’m learning the lyrics fairly quickly. And I did recognize at least two of the songs immediately, so I’m not a complete lost-cause of a recluse.”  
  
Dean chuckles and Cas drops his hand. “Why’d you wanna be a recluse, Cas? Seem plenty friendly and normal to me.”  
  
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Cas quirks a brow at Dean. “Is there something else I can do to help?”  
  
“Oh yeah, can you slice up some onion, too?” Dean gets him set up with more things to cut, fingertips lighting across Cas’ arm or back every time Dean has to reach around him for something. “So, I drew you out of your hobbit hole? I’m a hero,” Dean says, going back to the topic of seclusion.  
  
Cas shrugs. “I like solitude. I like people, too, but there are so many ways to screw up a conversation and become flustered or angry, or offend someone. It can be a bit overwhelming sometimes to always be ‘on’.”  
  
“Good thing you met me then,” Dean says warmly and Cas tries to ignore the chorus of butterflies causing a fuss in his gut again. “Don’t need you to be anybody but you. My friends should be here in an hour?”  
  
The change in topic is abrupt and Dean turns to look at the clock on the microwave to confirm the time. “They’re all cool,” Dean reassures Cas again, as if he can sense the inner turmoil writhing in Cas at the prospect of meeting people and feeling socially inept.  
  
"If they're anything like you then I think I'll survive," Cas jokes.

“Oh shit,” Dean snaps suddenly and Cas forgets to breathe when Dean grabs his waist for balance,  maneuvering around him to turn a stove burner off.  
  
Dean is there and gone, so quickly, but the sensation of his hands may be burned into Cas’ subconscious forever. Dean either didn’t realize he did it, or it just isn’t that big a deal to him, but Cas' body is buzzing. He shifts awkwardly at the heat directed to his groin over such a quick, simple touch.

He’s afraid to look up in case his thoughts are written all over his face, but when he glances over at the flannel-wrapped man in his straight-legged jeans, who is humming and appearing to be completely at ease and in his element, Dean is looking down at what he is stirring. Cas watches him a moment and he knows that he is a goner. He’s already falling.  
  
This will either end up being the best thing in his life, or the worst.  
  
True to his word, Dean’s friends are friendly and they bring a thrum of energy to the calm house, as well as more food, which is quickly deposited on the kitchen island before everyone loiters in the living room. Cas hangs back a little but then a feisty blonde is in his personal space, introducing herself as Jo.  
  
“I can’t believe he actually got you to come,” she says, hands on her hips.  
  
“Jo,” Dean says suddenly, sharply, from where he’s standing next to a linebacker of a man named Benny.  
  
“What? It’s no big deal,” she insists before turning back to Cas. “Dean, when he told me he wanted to invite you,” Jo laughs, “but that he’d never actually seen your face, I told him there was no way you’d agree to hang out.”  
  
Cas looks to Dean questioningly. “It’s not like that,” Dean insists before he turns to Jo. “You make it sound like we placed bets or something."  
  
Jo holds up her hands. “Geez, put away the claws, Tiger. Cas here knows I’m just teasing.” Her smiles turns mischievous and she lowers her voice conspiratorially so that only Cas can hear her. “Between us? Dean has been working up the courage to meet you since before Thanksgiving.” She leans back and grins before sashaying off to the kitchen.  
  
Dean immediately comes over. “What’d she just say to you? You look pale all of a sudden.”  
  
Cas looks into concerned eyes, verdant broken up by streaks of warm gold, and he forgets to speak. Dean has been wanting to meet him for over a month? _Dean_ has been trying to find courage _to meet him?!_

When Dean’s brow furrows further and he leans closer Cas snaps out of it. “I’m fine. I probably just need to eat something,” he lies.  
  
“Okay, well, food’s in the kitchen. I still need to make those sliders. Can you get the sliced cheese and dump a bag of those chips into the big bowl that’s on top of the fridge?”  
  
As they work, Jo, Benny, Garth and Bess keep them company. Cas is listening to the story of how Garth met Bess when Charlie and Dorothy show up. Before he can be introduced to them, a loud pounding comes at the door, causing Dean to wrinkle his brow in confusion.  
  
He goes to the door and a moment later there’s a shout that draws everyone’s attention. The commotion sounds excitable, rather than fearful, Dean returning to the kitchen with one arm slung around a tall man and the other around a dark-haired woman.  
  
“I cannot believe you fucking surprised me like this,” Dean says once he’s turned to face the woman and man directly. The woman punches him on the shoulder with a big, beautiful grin.  
  
Cas recognizes the man as Sam, and he watches as everyone says hello, Sam leaning down to give hugs, and introducing his girlfriend, Eileen. Sam stops short when he spies Cas, though, eyeing him curiously and waiting for someone to introduce them.  
  
Throughout Cas’ observation he realizes Sam or Eileen, or both of them, are hearing impaired. Just because Sam spoke to Cas at the bank doesn’t mean Dean wasn’t quietly translating next to him. Cas signs hello and his name before anyone else can speak up for him.  
  
“Are you serious?” Dean blurts out, looking at him dumbfounded, and for a moment Cas thinks he did something wrong. “You know how to sign, too? I swear to God, this guy…” Dean shakes his head and smiles up at the ceiling like God is up there.

Dean lowers his head. “Sam, this is Cas. From the bank?” Dean says it like he’s trying to get Sam to remember some joke told long ago that he might’ve forgotten the punchline to. But Sam seems to instantly remember.  
  
With his brows in his hairline Sam holds out a hand for Cas to shake real quick before he lets go,  so he can sign and speak. “Wow, nice to meet you, dude. Thanks for letting me cash my check.”  
  
Cas signs and says, “No problem. Just doing my job.”  
  
Eileen turns to everyone. “I can read lips if you can’t sign, by the way. Sam just likes to show off.”  
  
“Practice! It’s called practice,” he laments, and everyone laughs. “And what about the new guy? He signs but you don’t give him a hard time.”  
  
“Oh, give me time to get to know him.” She turns to Cas. “I’ll be teasing you, too, before you know it. Your name is Cas?” Eileen asks.  
  
“Well, that is a nickname.” He doesn’t add that Dean is the one who gave it to him. “My actual name is Castiel,” he says and spells out with his fingers, which earns him a few raised brows.  
  
Garth lets out a whistle. "That is one awesomely cool name."  
  
“It’s an angel name. My parents didn’t just throw random letters together,” Cas says with a laugh. To his relief people laugh with him, not at him.  
  
“Do you have a sign name?” Eileen asks. When Cas shakes his head in the negative, she smiles and curls both of her hands into the letter C. She taps them on her shoulders and flutters her hands out to the side like wings. “Cas-teel,” she says with a big, friendly smile.  
  
“Thank you,” he says quietly as he touches his lips and brings his hand down, palm up. And he genuinely means it. He took several courses in ASL but the people he had met during that time never assigned him a special name. He understands the significance. The fact that she quickly pulled him into this seemingly tight-knit fold isn’t lost on him.  
  
“Okay, time to break up the feelings and break out the beers,” Dean says loudly. “There’s food galore so eat it up.”  
  
The redhead takes the opportunity to pull her brunette companion over to Cas while the other people grab plates and beers. “We didn’t have a proper chance to say hi yet. I’m Charlie. I’m in computers. My girlfriend, Dorothy,” she gestures toward the other woman, “is a writer-slash-librarian. So you work at a bank?”  
  
Cas has to take a second to process her fast-paced spiel. “Uh, yes…”  
  
“So have you ever been robbed? Held at gunpoint? Like in the movies. You look so strong, I bet you’d take down bad guys and save the day.” Charlie punches him on the shoulder in excitement.  
  
Dorothy smiles apologetically at him. “She is extremely imaginative.”  
  
“I'm her muse,” Charlie says proudly. “Well, part-muse, part-gamer. Do you play anything? There's this awesome medieval game in development, but because I know some guys who know some guys, I've got exclusives. We should play sometime.”

“Sure,” Cas says, “I think I'd like that.” He has no idea what he just agreed to but Charlie beams at him.  
  
“I can tell we’re gonna be besties,” Charlie says.  
  
Dorothy rolls her eyes. “Alright, let the man breathe. Come on, lets get food in you before you start in on the happy juice.” Dorothy smiles at Cas and stage whispers, “I make a mean daiquiri if you want one. Save some room.”

“Having a good time yet?” Dean asks, appearing next to Cas and passing him a beer.  
  
“Your friends are very nice.” He looks over at Dean to catch his eye. “I’m glad you invited me.”  
  
With a few hours to kill before midnight, everyone settles in with food and drink all around the living room. It’s clear that everyone is paired off. Dorothy and Charlie sit on the floor across from the coffee table, Garth and Bess take the love-seat, while Sam and Eileen squeeze in on one side of the large couch next to Cas.  
  
He’s not too sure if Benny and Jo are an official couple or just dancing around it, but they're sitting close, in separate dining room chairs that they dragged into the living room. Judging by the sly glances that Jo keeps slipping to Benny, he’s going to guess it is the latter.  
  
Cas realizes how it must look, then, with Dean sitting at his other side on the couch and it fills him with a warm, fuzzy feeling. That, or the warm fuzzies are from the third beer he just put down.

Dean leans forward and rubs his hands together. “Alright, movie or cards?”  
  
He gets a mix of responses and green eyes turn on Cas. “Whaddya say? Newest member of the pack decides.”  
  
“Me?” Cas says. “Uh, let’s play cards. I don’t really watch many movies.”  
  
“What?” Dean asks, his face screwed up in shock, cheeks pink. “You don’t watch-- okay, well, that’s gonna have to be remedied soon. For now, we play cards. How ‘bout Spades?”  
  
“Oh, I love Spades,” Bess says. “But I’m gonna watch. First big night out since having the baby so I’m going to enjoy my daiquiri over here.”  
  
“You have a baby?” Cas asks, trying to make small talk, while Dean gets up to scrounge around for a deck of cards.  
  
Garth grins and puts an arm around his wife, relaxing into the love-seat. “He’s almost a year old. His name is Felan.” At Cas’ squinted look Garth adds, “It means ‘little wolf’. He’s a feisty kiddo. Born premature but with a strong will to live.”

“He sounds wonderful,” Cas says sincerely.  
  
“So what about you?” Charlie asks. “Do you have someone special in your life? Kids? We really don’t know much about you.”  
  
“Oh, well,” Cas squirms a little, signing as he talks in part to keep his hands busy and so Eileen can be more easily included in the conversation. Everyone has quieted down and has turned their eyes on him. “No, I don’t have kids.”

Dean walks back in. “Aha, found the cards. So who’s playin’?” He looks around the room at everyone but all eyes are still on Cas, everyone curious about the newcomer.  
  
“So no girlfriend, huh?” Benny asks, tilting his head back to take a large gulp of beer, and Dean snaps his gaze over to Cas.  
  
Cas chuckles a little and shakes his head, eyes down. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”  
  
“Cas went to boys-only schools,” Dean offers, apparently trying to come to his rescue. Cas watches Dean carefully walk around the coffee table before he wiggles himself back into his spot on the couch, knees knocking into Cas. “Right, Cas?”  
  
“Well, that doesn’t mean I’ve never met any girls,” Cas teases, and he feels like he's blushing. “I just don’t date _girls_.”  
  
The room is completely silent and Dean’s hands have frozen over the cards he had started shuffling. All at once, like a flipped switch, noise erupts with everyone talking, cards resume their shuffling, the sounds of people shifting in their seats and Sam pats Cas hard on the back.  
  
Eileen is already leaning forward so she can see everyone clearly, but she reaches across Sam to get Cas’ attention. “Alright, so no boyfriend then?”  
  
He tries really hard to not glance over at Dean when he confirms that he is, in fact, single. “No, no boyfriend. And,” he adds with courage, “I’m not even going to mention the last one. He was a complete douchebag.”  
  
Charlie laughs and Dean huffs a little next to him, a soft smile on his lips.  
  
Eileen and Jo get up to grab more beers, bringing the box with them and passing the cans out, while everyone else argues over who is going to play the first round of cards. Cas has no idea how to play Spades and confesses as much, as quietly as he can, to Dean.  
  
“No problem. We’ll just be a team so you can see how it’s done,” Dean says, leaning close and fanning his cards out so that Cas can see. He explains the game as they play with Sam, Eileen and Dorothy around the coffee table.  
  
Cas catches on quickly, but every time he points at something and lifts a brow at Dean in question, Dean leans close to his ear to whisper his answer if he doesn’t want someone to hear what they have in their hand.  
  
After a few rounds, switching out who is playing and who is rooting from the sidelines, they put the cards up and break out the DVDs.  
  
“You guys all know there’s really only two choices for New Year’s Eve," Dean starts. "Godfather II or--”  
  
“When Harry Met Sally,” Charlie crows.  
  
Sam groans. “What? I’m surprised you didn’t recommend Bridget Jones.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes but Garth pipes up before he can retort. “I thought you’d have Boogie Nights in there somewhere.”  
  
“Ah, but we need to get going, Garth,” Bess says, rising to her feet. Garth had one beer when they first got there but had been the only one to refrain the rest of the night. She looks at Dean apologetically. “It’s almost ten and I promised Claire, our babysitter, that we’d be back by then so she could go out with her friends.”  
  
“It's cool. I'm glad you guys could come,” Dean says, getting up to see them to the door.  
  
"Actually, we're gonna get goin', too, brotha." Benny stands up and reaches for Jo's hand. Jo flushes a deep shade of crimson while everyone tries to not drunkenly snicker over why the two are leaving. The soft gazes and silent conversations between them make it pretty obvious why they're eager to find somewhere more private to continue their evening.  
  
After everyone says their good-byes to those leaving, Charlie and Dorothy take the love-seat. They all go back to arguing over a movie, finally settling on When Harry Met Sally, out-voting Sam despite his many protests.  
  
Dean starts to rattle off something about a drinking game. "Any time someone talks about how they met, if you hear the word sex, any time someone kisses and--"  
  
"Any time Harry and Sally argue," Charlie adds, "you take a shot!"  
  
"You got it, sis," Dean says, bringing up the DVD menu screen and turning on the subtitles.   
  
The next hour-and-a-half is a blur of Cas trying to follow the story and taking shot-after-shot of burning amber liquid. At some point everyone on the couch started getting really hot so Sam moved to the floor, leaning against the couch between Eileen's knees.  
  
Despite having a little more breathing room, Cas finds himself touching Dean every time he has a question, and every so often Dean's hand will light on his shoulder or arm to remind Cas to take a shot.  
  
As soon as the movie ends, Cas gets up to stand behind the couch and stretch his legs. Dean turns on the New York special, standing next to Cas after using the bathroom.

It seems midnight comes all too quickly, and yet not quick enough, when it's finally time to countdown the final seconds of the year, when the television screen implodes with hoots and hollers, and the glittering ball slides down to the ground.  
  
The two remaining couples at Dean's party are busy wishing each other a happy new year when Cas sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns to look at Dean and is met by lips pressing awkwardly into the corner of his mouth.  
  
Cas leans back in surprise, looking into equally surprised green eyes. “I didn’t mean-- I was just gonna do a quick peck on your cheek,” Dean stammers in explanation even as his eyes dart down to Cas’ lips and Dean licks his own.  
  
“Oh, okay. No, it’s s’okay,” Cas says with a chuckle, his hand settling on Dean’s shoulder, a little heavily. "I think you missed. Maybe you should try again."  
  
"Try to kiss your cheek?"  
  
Cas shrugs, the alcohol helping to make him just brave enough to say what he may not have otherwise had the courage to say. "Nope. You missed right here..." Cas lifts a finger to find his mouth and he taps at his lips.  
  
Smiling, Dean steps into Cas’ personal space and leans forward to capture Cas' mouth, kissing him before the clock can tick over to 12:01. When he leans back he whispers, "I have a feeling this new year is gonna be a good one."  
  
"You know what? Me, too," Cas whispers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Cas says in French is: "Yes, why? Are you fond of the French language?"
> 
> In the deaf community, it is an honor when someone gives you a sign name. It is truly a gift; you do not get to choose your own. Eileen used the sign for "angel" and cupped her hands into "C"s to represent Castiel. 
> 
> Raise your hand in you're an introvert: ME! It really can be overwhelming and draining to meet new people. I pulled a lot from my personal experience regarding Cas’ introvertness.
> 
> Someone left a comment about whether or not Dean would recognize Cas' truck -- he doesn't. He didn't work that weekend. I never mention it again in the story so I thought I'd mention it here.
> 
>  
> 
> ~TheTwistedWillow~


	3. Chapter 3

“You are the worst thing to happen to my life,” Cas says to Dean eleven months later. While he is on the couch, Dean is sitting across the house at the dining table and he looks up, startled.

“My sad, lonely, monotonous life," Cas continues, getting up so he can slowly walk toward his boyfriend, "and you ruined it. Your vibrant color and music bled into it, turning flat gray into a kaleidoscope. Life became chaotic and messy and noisy. You disrupted everything.” Cas pauses to take a breath and carefully says, “You are the worst thing to happen _to my old life._ ”

Dean is probably used to the strange things that Cas says out-of-the-blue, but he looks a little uncertain when he asks, “That's… a good thing, right?”

The left side of Cas’ lip slowly curls up into a lopsided, fond smile, and he pushes at Dean to silently communicate that he wants Dean to scoot his chair away from the table. “The best,” he breathes, straddling Dean’s lap once he's moved the chair, his hands on Dean’s neck.  
  
“Geez, Cas, when you get all poetic like that I never know whether I’m on the right side of things or not.”  
  
“Hmm,” Cas hums before pressing their lips together, Dean’s warm hands sliding under the back of his shirt. He pulls back. “I wouldn’t change a thing. Would you?”  
  
Dean huffs and shrugs, looking away and toward the floor beyond Cas’ body.  
  
“Tell me again,” Cas orders sternly.  
  
Laughing, Dean playfully pushes on his shoulder. “What? I tell you all the time!”  
  
There are no arms on the dining chair so Cas wraps his legs around the back of it, trapping Dean in the seat. “I won’t budge until you do.”  
  
“Uh-huh. And what if you get hungry? What if you need to pee?” Dean’s hands slide down Cas’ back to grab his ass firmly. “You’ll have to go to work eventually…”  
  
“I’m quite comfortable and content,” Cas says smoothly. “You, on the other hand, may not be so comfortable after a bit, with all of this weight on you, so you may as well tell me.”  
  
Green eyes narrow and Dean’s hands move even lower to slide under Cas' thighs, tickling him. Cas jerks at the sensation, loosening his grip around the chair... and Dean. Even though Cas knows what is coming, he gasps and wraps his arms tightly around Dean as Dean leans forward and stands up.  
  
“Now you’re just showing off,” he pouts as Dean adjusts Cas’ weight and carries him across the house and down the hall to the bedroom.  
  
“‘Cause I know your ticklish spots?” Dean asks as he blindly kicks the door open further.  
  
“Mm, more like you showing off your muscular mechanic’s arms,” Cas lands on his back on the bed, “by freaking lifting me up and carrying me in here.”  
  
Dean stands at the foot of the bed and smirks down at him. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”  
  
Cas rolls his eyes, raising himself up on his elbows. “Just get over here and kiss me already.”  
  
“My, my. Someone is really bossy tonight.” But Dean obliges, somewhat, by crawling onto the bed and laying on his side in the space next to Cas. Cas rolls to face him, resting his head in his hand.

“Once upon a time,” Dean starts and Cas smacks his chest, laughing. “Hey, you wanted me to tell you so you gotta let me tell you in my best storytelling voice.”  
  
Dean clears his throat theatrically and starts again. “Once upon a time, a lowly mechanic received his wages and he needed to put them in a magical place called a bank. At first he thought nothing of the sexy-voiced, invisible wizard--”  
  
“Except that he was sexy-voiced,” Cas interrupts. Dean lays a finger over his lips and squints at some corner of the wall behind Cas like he’s trying to remember the details.  
  
“And then the wizard must have put a spell on him because the lowly mechanic began to feel things he hadn’t felt before.”  
  
“Like what?” Cas asks breathless from the laughter he's trying to suppress.  
  
Dean boops his nose and whispers, “Feeeeeeelings.”

Cas flops onto his back, chuckling and shaking his head over how weird Dean is being. Dean scoots closer but stays on his side so that he can look down at Cas and continue his story.  
  
“Now the mechanic could tell the math magician--”  
  
“I thought it was a wizard.”  
  
“No, you’re not listening. Total math magician.”  
  
“Do you mean mathematician?” Cas asks, grinning. He reaches up to palm Dean’s prickly jaw.  
  
“Of course not. Now shush, or you’ll never get to hear the best part.”  
  
Cas presses his lips together tightly, eyes wide from trying to not laugh or smile.  
  
“Alright, where was I? Uhh, okay, so the mechanic totally knew the bank wizard guy had the hots for him because the wizard started asking the mechanic all sorts of questions. It got to the point that the mechanic wished he had more reasons to come to see the wizard.  
  
“One day, the mechanic decided to try to get the wizard’s attention. He had heard of dudes playing music at their lover’s window--”  
  
“Emir and Basil,” Cas interjects, referencing the tale of a man named Basil who was struck by Emir’s beauty when he gazed at her through her window. He then serenaded her.  
  
“Castiel James Novak, if you don’t stop interrupting me…”  
  
“What? What’re you going to do, Dean Michael Winchester?” Cas challenges, knowing full well that Dean will probably try something and bracing himself for it.  
  
Sure enough Dean throws a leg over Cas, sitting his ass down on Cas’ hips and thighs. He grins down at Cas and grabs his wrists, pinning him to the bed.  
  
“You play dirty,” Cas complains half-heartedly. “This isn’t even fair. At least earlier you could get up and carry me off. I can’t move with your butt on me.”  
  
Pretending to not hear Cas’ protests, Dean continues. “So, the mechanic made the sexy-voiced bank wizard a mixtape, to try and tell him about himself and about his feelings. He was kinda bummed when the wizard never mentioned it."  
  
"But I did mention it later at--"    
  
"Bup bup bup. Shhh. Okay, so it wasn’t until he was wishing the wizard a happy new year that the mechanic decided he didn’t want to keep waiting to meet the mysterious man behind the magical intercom.”  
  
“And so you creeped in the parking lot, waiting to pounce, and almost scared the living shit out of me.”  
  
Dean frowns down at Cas. “No, he didn’t creep. He froze his ass off and waited like a gentleman. And then,” Dean says excitedly, “he finally gazed upon the face of the wizard. The mechanic already knew he liked the wizard so imagine his delight in finding that the wizard was so beautiful--”  
  
“The mechanic isn’t shallow at all,” Cas says dryly.  
  
“And he knew he couldn’t let him go,” Dean says, once again ignoring Cas’ interruptions. He tightens his grip on each of Cas’ wrists and adjusts his weight over Cas’ lap as if to prove that he will literally not let Cas go. “The mechanic fell madly, deeply in love and he wanted the wizard in his life from that point on.”  
  
The room goes silent except for their breathing. Cas sighs happily. Dean always tells his side of things in a joking manner, unable to be serious, but it always ends the same: with a form of a love confession.  
  
The problem with Dean is that he thinks he’s not romantic or that he’s not good with lovey stuff. But Cas knows the truth and the truth is that Dean is a big softie beneath his macho persona.  
  
Dean has sniffled away tears at sappy television commercials, he has spent time tracking down a lost child’s mother in a busy mall, and he is always willing to hold a door or help someone in need. And he makes Cas feel like the most special person in all the world.  
  
But perhaps nothing comes so close to exposing Dean as the romantic that he is as the day he comes inside the bank, in mid-December, rather than coming through the drive-thru.  
  
It’s almost the end of the day and Cas has his back to the bank lobby so he doesn’t even know that Dean is there as he prints off a receipt. Becky clears her throat.  
  
Cas ignores her and sends the receipt whizzing through the tube to the customer's idling vehicle. Becky clears her throat again, in extreme exaggeration.  
  
“Do you need a mint or a cough drop?” Cas asks, looking over at her in concern. Becky starts jerking her head to her left and Cas becomes even more concerned. “Are you alright? Are you having a seizure?”  
  
Becky huffs loudly. “No, look over that way, you silly willy.”  
  
Cas looks over and is surprised to find Dean is inside. He’s never come into the bank. Cas can feel his co-workers' eyes on him, everyone grinning like they know something he doesn’t, as he gets up.  
  
Dean is wearing his nicest shirt, a black button-up, and he smiles timidly at Cas as he sets a drive-thru capsule on the counter that separates them.  
  
That alone perplexes Cas beyond belief. But then again, maybe the capsule itself is broken. They’re pretty tough and hard to break, but the hinges can wear out. All of these thoughts pass through his mind in the few seconds it takes for him to reach Dean.  
  
“Hello, Dean. Is everything alright?” he asks quietly.  
  
Dean takes a deep breath and says a wistful, “I hope so.”  
  
Cas tilts his head, opening his mouth to voice his concern again, but Dean reaches up to pop open the capsule. Sitting inside is a shiny, silver jewelry box. The action ignites a nervous fluttering in Cas’ stomach that travels all the way to his hands until they're trembling.  
  
He stands ramrod straight, speechless, as he watches Dean pluck the little box up. The hinge creaks in protest, loud in the quiet bank. Nestled within is a simple silver band.  
  
Tears prick his eyes while Dean seems to try to compose himself: he licks his lips, swallows, looks down, exhales loudly and finally brings his own wet eyes up to lock onto Cas.  
  
“Cas,” he says roughly, “I know it's probably cliché to do this here but I don't care. These may just be four, ordinary brick walls but every time I pass by, or come through, I thank my lucky stars that I picked your lane.  
  
"At most, I hoped we could be friends. I didn't imagine that we'd..." Dean clears his throat. "I didn't expect us to end up here when we're so different. You're quiet and calm, and I'm loud and emotional. You like your books and learning but I have to get up and keep moving. You're patient, I'm impatient. You like things clean and organized while I don’t mind gettin' dirty.”  
  
Cas supposes there is some euphemism there but Dean is so nervous that he keeps on talking.  
  
“And don’t even get me started on your music tastes," Dean says, with a brow raised. "Maybe it’s that whole, ‘ _opposites attract,_ ’ thing. But, like I tell you again and again, I knew the moment we finally met that I was meant to have you in my life. And I mean for forever. So, I, uh...” Dean falters, blinking several times. He looks down again to compose himself.  
  
Cas can’t stand it. He’s only a few feet away from a door that will lead him out from behind the counter and closer to the man he loves, who is struggling to say something so monumentally important, but there's an audience watching with rapt attention. Knowing how uncomfortable Dean is, Cas does just that.  
  
He can see Dean’s confusion give way to relief when Cas moves through the door to come to the lobby. In a burst of either Cas’ encouraging presence, or Dean’s desire to get it out there, he earnestly says, "Marry me.”  
  
Cas doesn’t even stop his stride. He walks straight up to Dean and draws his face down by the back of his neck. “Of course,” Cas says when he pulls back from the kiss. Dean crushes Cas in a hug, smiling wider than he's ever seen Dean smile.  
  
The next few minutes are a flurry of noise and congratulations, of people touching them and patting their backs, of Dean putting the ring on Cas’ finger, and of Cas’ boss coming out of her office to see what all the commotion is about.  
  
“Alright, you two, get out of here," she says once she sees the ring. "Castiel will be useless to us the rest of the afternoon." Her lip twitches in an effort to not smile through her stoicism.  
  
Cas quickly gathers his things, thanks Becky and everyone for taking over his work, and he leaves with Dean. As soon as he’s seated in the passenger seat of the Impala, Cas looks down to get his first long look at the ring on his finger, admiring how it shines.  
  
Dean groans when he folds himself into his spot behind the wheel. He rests his head back against his seat, closing his eyes. “I was so fucking nervous that you were gonna say no,” he says, chuckling to himself in what sounds like relief before he straightens up and turns the key in the ignition.  
  
“You know,” Cas says, sliding over so he’s close to Dean’s side. “I don’t think we’re as different as you think. For starters, we’re both men. That’s about as close to similar as people can get.”  
  
“Hmm, good point.”  
  
Cas lays his hand on Dean’s thigh, smiling when Dean places his right hand over the top of it to fiddle with the ring. "You make me laugh and I make you laugh. We use the same shaving cream. We both love cheeseburgers. And now that I am getting around to watching some of your movies, I find that I like many of them."  
  
"I still can't believe you hadn't seen the classics, man. The Goonies? Lord of the Rings?  _Tombstone_ , Cas. I mean, who are you?" Dean wrinkles his nose in mock disgust.  
  
"Well, apparently, I'm _your_ fiancé." The word sounds foreign but so right on his tongue.  
  
"Holy shit, Cas." Dean glances over and back to the road, intertwining their fingers together as he steers with his other hand. "You're my fiancé," he says in awe, like he suddenly realizes what that means but can't quite believe it. "We're really doing this."  
  
Cas lays his head on Dean's shoulder. "Yes, we're doing this. And there's no one else I'd rather do this with."  
  
Dean squeezes Cas' hand. "Me, too, Cas. Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we just need an angst-free story. The Dean Winchester in this story is how I imagine he'd be if he wasn't a hunter; basically if he'd been allowed to flourish and grow without so much trauma and horror in his life. And, of course, Cas always brings out his playful and happy side, regardless of that. 
> 
> So this was totally like the ending of, "While You Were Sleeping," but alas, I had Dean come into the bank instead of proposing through the drive-thru. I wanted them face-to-face, even though I know Cas could've run outside to the car. 
> 
> Have a happy and safe holiday season, friends.
> 
> ~TheTwistedWillow~


End file.
